I have never heard any songs like those anywhere since I left slavery, except when in Ireland.

There I heard the same _wailing notes_, and was much affected by them.

It was during the famine of 1845-6.

In all the songs of the slaves, there was ever some expression in praise of the great house farm; something which would flatter the pride of the owner, and, possibly, draw a favorable glance from him.
_I am going away to the great house farm, O yea! O yea! O yea! My old master is a good old master, O yea! O yea! O yea!_ This they would sing, with other words of their own improvising--jargon to others, but full of meaning to themselves.

I have sometimes thought, that the mere hearing of those songs would do more to impress truly spiritual-minded men and women with the soul-crushing and death-dealing character of slavery, than the reading of whole volumes of its mere physical cruelties.